Points of Viewing
by ilexx
Summary: Set after ITWIF. Tyr has a son, has lost his boneblades and resets his priorities very successfully. With quite a bit of impact on Dylan. Part two set during STNV. Part three after OMDL.
1. Fairytale Gone Awry

I don't own Andromeda.

Set right after ITWIF. (And actually inspired by Natta's _And Dream Your Perfect Fairytale..._) I liked the last scene of this ep and was kind of sorry that all through S 3 we never actually got to see Tyr slowly beginning to work on his plans. Of which a first step would have been to start slowly driving the others on the crew apart. So: this is a bit my idea of it.

**Fairytale gone awry**

He had never had something like this: companions, comrades, friends – people he trusted and who trusted him, that he could rely on and whom he could look up to, who respected, liked and understood him, looking up to him in return. And what kind of people?! For a Nietzschean the most unlikely bunch of all: a kludge from Earth, a machine, a multi-facetted chameleon, a non-eligible pirate and a relic. But... here he was. And it had felt good, Drago's Bones! there had not been many things in his life that had ever felt that good. Alas, there always were things that felt even better. Or were supposed to do so. Whether that was true was not for him to decide. Or question, for that matter. Life presented choices; and in-between those choices fate showed up and threw everything upside down. For a true Nietzschean this meant that all he had to do was make sure that the path designed by Destiny looked at least as good, preferably though much better than the one he would have followed out of his own free will. He had made sure it did. The rest... It didn't matter, paled compared to the good fortune that had been bestowed upon him. Everything paled in comparison to it. Even they did. They had to. They would. As would his feelings for them. Decline to the point of irrelevancy. And disappear. Almost...

-

He had never had something like this: companions, comrades, friends – people he trusted and who trusted him, that he could rely on and whom he could look up to, who respected, liked and understood him, looking up to him in return. Which was, admittedly, even more astounding – considering his size... and theirs. On Earth there had of course been relatives, cousins, nephews, a few allies who depended on him, on his wits to protect them from the Nietzs. There even had been a few Übers he had every now and then managed to impress with his skills and sharpness. But strangers, real-life, grown-up people regarding him as their equal were indeed a new experience...

A gratifying one:

That he seriously had come that close to a Nietzschean... And not just any Nietz, but Tyr Anasazi, the very quintessence of a Nietzschean par excellence, and yet a Nietzschean with compassion reigning in the arrogance, survival instincts kept in check by a complicated, fragile, yet time and again still holding net of loyalty and honour, strength outweighed by friendship! It rivalled miracles. But then again: their whole encounter had been a miracle to begin with and had remained one ever since.

Just like that other one, a real, living, breathing and – most amazingly of all – trusting legend of the past, a dream come true of what the human race once had been and could become again. Determined, strong, afraid of nothing, fighting to win not for himself, but for them all. And really winning, all the time, no matter what the universe threw at him, coming step by step closer to his goal and relying heavily on Harper while doing so, telling him that he did, showing himself grateful for the support and never too proud to say it.

His friends. Through thick and thin, to hell and back (as he knew since they'd been there), forever... And next to them the most gorgeous, most amazing toy men had ever called their own, one that – despite Tyr's might and Dylan's 'older rights', if one could call it so – was more his than theirs. Along with the greatest riddle he had thought possible, beautiful, surprising, mysterious... and playful, no matter what shapes and colours it chose to appear in. All of them safely guarded by the most resilient, solid, warm and steady presence he ever had encountered – for all her fears and doubts and troubles always standing true to her word and by their side, his... in fact their all last, most securing and maybe strongest line of defence.

-

This bar on Albuquerque Drift had been his idea. It was – even by Old Commonwealth standards – a very fancy place, as he was pleased to notice. And the 'ol' man' liked it, which pleased him even more. The whole birthday party had been his idea. Unfortunately Rommie had been detained on Sinti to go over the last drafts of the new Commonwealth-charter. And Trance, in this awesome future version of hers, that seemed so frighteningly effective in so many ways, had gone along to help her. So Beka had to stay onboard, to greet and accommodate their newly assigned crew members.

"It's a good idea, Harper," she had told him approvingly, "we're all in dire need for a break, and Dylan maybe even more than the rest of us. Take him and go!"

"But, boss," he had objected, "that won't be much of a party, just him and me, with you all unavailable..."

"Take Tyr. I don't really need him. He'd probably just scare away the freshmen. Take Tyr, throw a party for Dylan, make it a boys' night out. I'm sure you'll all have fun!"

-

They had. The food was great, the drinks exquisite and Harper firmly decided to worry about the prices later. There were quite a few more than just interesting girls around, who looked interested themselves, ofering promising prospects for the night to bea really, really long one, and there were jokes and laughter and a lot of banter, maybe not always tasteful or elegant, with Harper more than once saying things that made Tyr roll his eyes and Dylan at first look slightly away, one of his insecure grins on his lips. But some drinks later on the older man loosened up – and two wine bottles further down the road even the Nietzschean began to chuckle.

"Harper, I must thank you. As birthday parties go, this is one of the best ones I remember," Dylan finally said, rising his glass towards the engineer.

"Hear, hear!" the Terran exclaimed, almost glowing with happiness at the praise. "At 343 years of age that's no small achievement, eh Tyr?"

"Well, as much as I normally enjoy my parties with female company: it most certainly is more peaceful that way and beats being on the road to Tarn Vedra by far."

Silence fell, Harper 's face freezing up, while the smile dropped from Dylan's features, both men looking instantly sobered. Tyr lifted an ironic eye-brow into the void his remark had created.

"What?" he inquired distantly.

The silence persisted for a moment, while Harper wiped his mouth with his napkin and threw it on the table, as if disgusted with a sudden foul taste in his mouth.

"Sorry, boss!"

"For what, Mr. Harper?" Dylan's polite voice sounded deeper than usual – and very quiet.

"For bringing him along. I just forgot how one can always trust a Nietzschean to effectively crash a party."

"Look," Tyr explained nonchalantly, "all I meant was that – as regrettable as I find it that the other members of the crew couldn't join us – Captain Valentine's absence has certain, undeniable advantages when it comes to a stress-free pass-time."

"She meant well, Mr. Anasazi," Dylan replied mildly, effectively chilling the atmosphere even further. "It failed – and she was wrong for trying, as I was wrong to let her – but I'll always be grateful that she attempted to get me home, and I consider it the most generous gift someone has ever offered me..."

"Ha!" the Nietzschean laughed up, an incredulous if slightly prying look on his face. "That what she told you?

Dylan's eyes narrowed.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I hate to bring it to you, but she sold the idea to me with the weaponry probably available on Tarn Vedra. And I bet that she had another tale in store for Harper, right?" His head turned sharply towards the engineer, dreadlocks slightly flying. The young man flinched. "I thought so." Tyr's voice was becoming dryer with each word. "What was it with you?" he asked with faked curiosity. "A treasure? Another High Guard ship like the Pax? The Engine of Creation?" Seeing Harper blink, Tyr let a deep-throated, almost silent laugh escape him before mockingly raising his glass. "To Captain Valentine! And her mastery at playing us!" He downed his drink.

None of them joined him. Silence descended and stretched itself, becoming solid, permanent. Finally, Dylan downed the content of his glass, slamming it back on the table and pushing it violently away from him. It slid across the polished surface and dropped down to earth, shattering into tiny pieces. In a fluent move the tall man jumped up to his feet.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Harper," he apologised in a slightly strangled voice. "I suddenly remembered how much I actually hate birthday parties..."

As if chased from behind, Dylan Hunt sat himself in motion, long strides eating up the space separating the table from the entrance, followed by the Nietzschean's slightly satisfied, dark gaze..

" Divide and conquer, hm? Good job, Tyr," Harper complimented him bitterly as soon as the doors had closed again behind the captain's frame, "very good job on Dylan."

-

He had always had something like this: companions, comrades, friends – people he trusted and who trusted him, that he could rely on and whom he could look up to, who respected, liked and understood him, looking up to him in return. All this and more: like warmth, decency and love. And then life made a point in showing him how wrong he'd been to take it all for granted. When he lost it then, he had been convinced that it would be forever. He had been determined to go on without it. But then **they **had been there – and had dragged him out of his self-imposed splendid isolation. He learned anew to trust, maybe not as blindly, but to trust nonetheless: a Nietzschean to be Nietzschean, wisdom to be stronger than hunger, incomprehensible beings to mean well, madly spontaneous geniuses to be constant in their unpredictability, machines to be caring. And cold realists with an adventurous spirit, a foul mouth, a weird sense of humour and survival instincts fiercer than all Nietzschean prides combined to put enough trust in him to give up independence – and walk his dreams with him.

_"I won't grow old without you. I won't become the old woman who lost her one true love and lived out the rest of her days with a broken heart."_

_"Then don't be that woman. Choose to be someone else."_

He remembered. He remembered the words as if they had been exchanging them yesterday. As well as he remembered the message he had played countless times since their visit on Terrazed, relishing in the tranquil beauty of the woman he had once thought his soulmate and that had by then clearly been belonging at someone else's side.

_"Hello, Dylan. I probably shouldn't be doing this. I argued myself out of it a dozen times, but I wanted you to know - I survived. And I did as you asked. I got on with my life. I got married. We have a good life... More than that. Dylan, it's bad out there. But knowing you'll be back someday to make things right helps. So I just wanted to say 'Thank you'. And if you're getting this message, then I've done my small part. Be well, Dylan. I wish you every happiness."_

He'd done his best. The Divine knew, he'd done his best. He had fought day and night to bring together the fifty mandatory worlds to restart the Commonwealth, he'd fought whenever and wherever he got a chance to bring a ray of hope, a shred of security, a second more of peace to the troubled worlds out there. Step by step, strike after strike he fought back the darkness – out there and inside himself. He'd put behind his mistrust, burned savagely, without pity the wounds he knew his soul and mind to have sustained from Rhade's treachery, at Witchhead, on the Magog world he had created on Serendipity, from the knowledge about the Abyss; burned them so they would heal more quickly, would not slowly poison his whole being, he had hung on to his new crew, adopted them as family and – pushing aside all fear, swallowing down his pride – he had, eyes deliberately and firmly shut in trust, decided to build his own personal world on an indomitable grin and a pair of smoke-coloured eyes.

He had always known her to have her own agenda. He knew, for she had told him. It didn't really matter. They all had one. Even he did. No, it hadn't mattered when he had decided that she would be the one he would let into the most private corner of his mind on that dreadful day he had had to bury his future with Sarah:

_"You have pulled some real knee-slappers before, but this has gotta be the queen mother."_

_"If you want to talk me out of this, take a number. The line starts behind Rommie."_

_"Oh, no, that's ok. We both know you're completely impervious to reason. I just wanted to tell you that killing yourself out of some misdirected need to play the love-sick schoolboy is not the kind of thing that impresses people."_

_"You know it's not as simple as that."_

_"Right. It isn't. The truth is, you feel guilty. You survived the war, and Sarah didn't. Well join the club. All of us feel guilty for something, Dylan. It's called life. It hurts. It isn't fair. That's not a reason to die."_

There had been but a quick exchange of glances between the two of them. Yet it had been enough. She didn't want him gone from her side. And though committed, determined to go through with it all, he had known that he didn't want to be gone for good from there either.

_"Let me be clear. I'm coming back!"_ he had promised. And stayed true to his word. She'd hit his weakest spot dead-on; and he admitted to it later on, right after he was back, when there had been another quick exchange of glances, one that had told her that she had been right, that he agreed with her and that he had come back as promised, although it had nearly killed him to do so.

_"Welcome back."_

And through the storm that was raging inside him, he had retained the memory of her trying to protect his Achilles' heel, throwing herself between him and his new reality, sheltering him from it as well as she could._  
_

_"Captain Hunt. Captain, that was incredible. A brilliant advance for science. Yes. The Sinti Council will be very pleased...very, very pleased."_

_"Will you please leave him alone?"_

Later on he learned that she had done far more, that she had actually had the guts to go up against the Nietzschean, pulling her gun on Tyr, making the Kodiak back down - all on his behalf.

_If you're thinking of cutting him off and bugging out, I wouldn't._

It had marked the moment when he had firmly closed the book on his past and embarked on the future, knowing he had someone strong enough by his side to pull him back from weakness, to know all his soft spots and not take advantage of them.

He had been such a fool!

For a brief moment it occurred to him that maybe Tyr was wrong, had lied to him about it all. But no, he'd seen it in Harper's eyes that the Kodiak had told him the truth. And he remembered clearly the ardour, the enthusiasm with which she had set out for that stupid Engine, had even made him follow her... blindly, docile, indulgent, trusting - yet again. Unfortunately he also remembered stumbling after her through the warm, moist jungle, fighting those foolish traps and contests side by side with her like some kids on an adventure trail, making even more foolish wishes, hoping they'd come true... No. He couldn't cut her out of his life, cut her out of his plans, but from now on he could push **her **- push **everyone** as far away from himself as necessary to ensure that nothing they did, they schemed, they wanted would touch him anymore, if need be. Apparently there was.

Sat on an edge of his bed, elbows resting on his knees, hands hanging limply between his his legs, he looked with dry, burning eyes at an imaginary point in front of him and nodded slowly: that was it, the wish had not come true, she'd have to leave his head, his mind, they'd better all left, he'd let them - **her **too far in, too close to himself and had made a mess of it all. Although, unlike her, he had at least not planned to make a mess of it from the very start.

Staring blindly at the stars outside the window of his quarters, he clenched his jaws, grinding his teeth in a desperate attempt to prevent the outraged scream lurking at the back of his throat from erupting. And as he knew that he would lose this fight, he threw himself on the bed, burying his face into the mattress, screaming all the anguish, the fury and the grief soundlessly into it, his fists gripping tightly at the blankets, to no avail... He was still drowning. And then he just gave up, let the waves of anger and loss wash over him, tear him down, felt the wounds he had so strenuously tried to cover up with scars rip open, felt himself bleed out from them all trust and hope he had imposed upon himself with so much effort and against all better knowledge, against experience, against all of his instincts.

And then, pulling himself together and almost panting from the strain, he finally got up again – with the same old goals, the same old ideals, but without anyone to walk with him through them any longer. Whoever he would live and fight together with: from now on he would dream alone.

Well, not all fairytales had to come true in the end.

A/N: Like many others I liked IMALL quite a lot, albeit for slightly different reasons: I liked it how they showed Beka easily manipulating Dylan, Tyr and Harper - and I liked the fact that for once a main character was portrayed as ruthless enough to kick someone down exactly in the spot he was down and not likely to ever completely recover, as it was the case with Dylan's lost past. Not that I prefer a mean Beka, but I enjoyed the twist.


	2. Of Traps

Missing scene from STNV (since we never got to see how Beka and Dylan actually plotted the trap they sat out for Tyr).**  
**

**Of Traps**

"_Beka!"_

"_Hmm?"_

"_Thanks for being a friend."_

"_It was gonna take you 10 seconds after I left to look at it anyway."_

"_Less than that."_

The instant the words had left his mouth he knew them to have been a mistake. And by the time the doors had closed behind her he had already begun to ask himself if they would not turn out to have been one of his worst mistakes ever. Yet he still forced himself to take his time, to sit down and listen to what Tyr wanted him to hear, hoping against all hope that things would turn out less bad than he suspected.

The message left him frozen. For a moment he tried to push it all aside, to just sit there pretending that everything will be all right, but then reality seemed to grab him by the neck and shake him. He jumped to his feet and took off in a hurry towards the _Eureka Maru_'s hangar deck, rushing through the corridors and decks at high speed, as fast as his legs could carry him.

"Rommie..." he panted when he knew himself to be halfway there, "has Beka already taken off?"

"No, she's just in front of hangar-deck 12."

"Close and seal the doors to it. Don't let her in till I'm there," he barked short-breathed, continuing to run ahead and not registering the hologram of the _Andromeda Ascendant_ flashing up behind him, arms crossed on her chest and looking after him with a pensive look on the transparent face.

She was pacing the corridor up and down in front of the sealed doors, so close to the corner he had just turned around that he almost bumped into her. Had she not stepped aside at the last moment, he would have knocked her down. Instead he merely came to a halt sliding and leaned against the nearest bulkhead, slightly bending over with head down between his shoulders and hands on his knees, trying to calm his breath.

"Dylan!"

Her voice sounded angry. A quick peek at her confirmed that impression: she was looming over him, hands on her hips and an ungracious frown on her face.

"Mind telling me why I can't access the _Maru_? Rommie tells me you ordered the doors sealed."

"Beka, we need to talk!"

"Well, we can talk later, after I'm back..."

"No, we must talk right now," he interrupted her, straightening himself up and closing his hand firmly around one of her elbows, pulling her along with him to the nearest doors leading to a small machine shop, that was as crowded as usual at that time of day. The six crew-members present looked more than just a bit surprised to see their captain entering in a hurry while dragging a reluctant first officer along with him, who did however immediately cease her struggling as soon as she became aware of the puzzled eye-pairs following the scene.

"Clear the deck!" Dylan Hunt ordered sharply. The crew-members set themselves in motion without so much as a blink, that only followed when, already on their way out, they heard another crisp, short command:

"_Andromeda_, close the doors and engage privacy mode."

But whatever blinks and furtive glances thrown to each other this last order might have ensued, Dylan Hunt and Beka Valentine remained unaware of them behind the entrance firmly locking once the last of the engineers had left the premises.

-

"Beka, don't go!"

"What?" She stared at him, her frowning deepening, eyes darkening in anger. "You really would go as far as preventing me from going to see him?" She slightly turned away from him, shaking her head in utter disbelief. "So much for 'being a friend'! Dammit, Dylan, a couple of hours ago you were more than willing to trust Trance's funny little particles, of which you know absolutely nothing about, to be a friendly device once they've melted together. But going so far as to trust me?! Hell, no – not Dylan Hunt, the universe's most solitary island!"

"No!" He quickly stepped closer, his hands firmly taking hold of her shoulders. "No, that's not it, that's not it at all. You don't understand!"

"You bet I don't." Beka Valentine sounded outraged, but a look at his face made her stop her struggle to break free from his grip. "You bet I don't," she repeated, somewhat softer while still trying to press down his arms.

"Beka..." he began, his hands reaching again for her shoulders, his fingers almost painfully digging into them, but then shut up, clearly at a loss for words, his eyes just silently burning down on her. She waited a few seconds, but then frowned:

"Well?"

"He doesn't want just the map. He wants an end-game..." Dylan finally tried to explain clumsily. Beka's eyes widened, then narrowed. Wrestling herself free from his grasp, she stepped back, scrutinising his face.

"With you?" she asked quietly. Dylan nodded.

"Yes, he wants the map... and everything I have..." His voice trailed off.

"Really?" Beka asked, her voice barely more than a low growl. A surprised glance at her, showed him the woman's face distorted in rage. He backed off.

"Beka..."

"You** don't** have me! You never had ME!" she furiously snarled at him.

He closed his eyes, pained, remembering Tyr's outrage, shouting more or less exactly the same words into his face. His arms hanging along his sides, he shook his head sadly and turned around to leave.

"That's not what I meant either. I'm sorry... Never mind... If this is what you understood from what I tried to tell, you can decide yourself... Hell, I would have let you decide either way, I just... Like I said: never mind." He had almost reached the doors when her voice called him back, albeit not in an encouraging manner: it sounded still furious... and cold, so cold it almost scared him.

"Truth bringing you down, Dylan? I'm sorry for causing you..." she hesitated a bit, but then continued, an ironic undertone marking her words, "so very much pain."

He swirled around, all of a sudden as furious as she was.

"You care?" he snarled at her. She blinked, but didn't back down. Her chin came up defiantly.

"I've always cared," she said, her voice somewhat less inflexible, if not necessarily warmer. But sincere. His eyes narrowed, scrutinising her, mistrust, rage and something else she couldn't quite define written all over his face, a small vein on his temple furiously beating in time with his rapid, flat breathing. Beka shook her head:

"Fine. You know what? I've had it, this time I'm really, really through, with you **and** Tyr. I'm tired of fighting, Dylan, of having you second guessing every move I make, of Tyr trying to push my buttons. I don't know what Tyr wants from me, what he's got in store for us, but I had planned to find out about it – for you. But as I have no idea what the hell **you **want from me either, I think I'll just let the two of you lock horns on your own. How does that sound?"

"It's not that I don't trust you..." he attempted weakly, by the strain in his voice obviously trying to control himself .

"Like hell it isn't!" she said. Her eyes drilled into his. "Dylan," she then began in an intense tone, "tell me!"

"Tell you what?"

"What the hell is going on. What has been going on for..." She shook her head. "I don't know... For so long, I don't even remember when it started. You're keeping to yourself, you let no-one come close to you, it's as if you're avoiding us all, as if you've decided to no longer place your trust in anyone. And it's got nothing to do with Tyr. It's been like this for a lot longer than that. Are you really THAT insecure? Do you really think blocking us all out will make you any safer?"

"You bet," he replied, suppressed fury anew evident in his voice. "You keep to yourself, refrain from anything but passing encounters and nothing... no-**one** can harm you anymore. Of course, **you** wouldn't know that."

It took her aback, but she didn't want to let him see that.

"Really? I've some doubts about that. You see, you don't really look that unharmed to me right now," Beka informed him coolly. After a brief moment she then sighed. "Look, Dylan, if shutting me out and telling yourself I'm cruel and harsh and heartless makes you feel any better, go ahead! Be my guest! If it quiets the doubts you have about your life, calms your conscience and lets you sleep better at night, you may tell yourself that I've wronged you, that for all this estrangement I'm the one to blame, but it's not true. **It isn't true**!"

"Is it not?"

Beka pressed her lips angrily together.

"Will you stop the cryptic act? Dylan, if I want cryptic, I go to Trance. In the name of the Vedran Empress..."

"You leave Tarn-Vedra out of this!" he snapped at her savagely.

"Tarn-Vedra? What...?"

She watched him as he once more shut his eyes tightly.

"Dylan!" Her voice softened. "What's wrong, Dylan? Tell me what has happened, why you've lost your faith in... well, everything almost."

A doubtful, nearly fearsome look met her gaze. She smiled thinly.

"Don't worry, I can take it. I'm cold, cruel and heartless, remember?" she slightly mocked then, her tone belying the harsh words. "You can't stab my so very non-existing heart, you can't fear for my reputation, since I haven't got a good one to begin with. And you can't hurt my feelings, since I've none of them either, right?"

"That's not what I think," he tried to fend her off.

"Isn't it?"

"Now who's being cryptic?"

She grinned, the first genuine show of warmth.

"What** do **you think?" she then got back on track. "What happened, Dylan?"

"Tyr..."

"And before Tyr...?"

"Tyr."

She frowned. Scrutinised his face. Then frowned some more.

"What has Tyr done?" she finally asked in a deadly still voice.

The man in front of her sighed, then took a deep breath and his eyes no longer avoided hers.

"Back then, when you wanted to take me back home, you... What was it really about, Beka? Looting the place? The Engine? I always knew you had your own agenda, that much of what I am and think doesn't fit in your reality, I always knew you enjoyed to push our buttons... Push** my** buttons... But I somehow thought that there were buttons you would know to be off-limits... I thought that if I'd be straight with you about them... That you... I..." His voice died out in a helpless mutter.

She stared at him dumbfounded, her eyes growing bigger and bigger at his words, then slowly blurring over. How could she have been so blind, how could she have not seen it?

"Who told you?" she asked harshly, her voice thick with sorrow and regret. "Who told you and when?"

He shrugged.

"Tyr." She said it herself, in a final voice. "The bastard. The despicable, lousy son-of-a-bitch. It is not for the first time that I wish the Dragans would have finished the job on the Kodiak more thoroughly."

He looked at her surprised – and a bit awed.

"That's... a nasty thing to say," he then offered.

"Tyr's a nasty thing to be," Beka replied. Quickly approaching Dylan, she grabbed for his upper arms. "Listen to me – and listen to me well: I did what I did, and I'm not proud of it. I said what I said to get my way, to... 'push your buttons', as you put it, yours, Tyr's, Harper's... But that doesn't mean that it wasn't also about getting you home, that I don't care, that you can't trust me. You can, and you better start believing that most of what I did over the past years since I pulled you out of that hole has been about you. And I mean: **you**. Not the _Andromeda_, not the CW, not your high ideals. YOU. If it really helps you out to think that's not true, go ahead. But I don't think it does."

He looked down on her, a wild mix of emotions showing on his face, chasing one another at high speed. She smiled, seeing it.

"I'm going, Dylan. I'll try to make him see reason, to bring him back. And if I can't, I'll find out what he wants, what he knows, what this is all about. I won't let him harm you, I won't let him harm us. Never again."

Their eyes locked, hers determined, his still unsure but speaking volumes, while his mouth remained silent. Then he nodded, signalling his consent. She nodded back and grinned her flashy, cocky smile at him.

"Trust me!" she urged him one last time, squeezing his arms lightly before she let go of him and turned around, leaving the room, ordering_ Andromeda_ to unlock the hangar-deck doors.

Dylan simply remained frozen in his place. After a while, he rubbed a tired hand over his eyes, but then lifted his other hand as well, covering his face with both of them.

"I trust you, I trust you," he murmured voicelessly into his hands; it sounded like a statement of faith. "Just... just don't let him harm you..."


	3. Everbody Knows?

I don't own any of the Andromeda-characters or any rights to Leonard Cohen's song "Everybody Knows…"

Set after One More Day's Light.

**Everybody Knows...?  
**

They were sitting in _Andromeda_'s briefing room, Dylan, Rhade and Rommie, when Beka stormed in like an ancient fury, with Doyle hot on her heels. Without paying attention to any of the others present, the blonde strode up to _Andromeda_'s captain, who was seated at the far end of the table, firmly planting herself right in front of him, grabbing for his shirt's chest and closing her fists around it, bringing her face as close to his as possible when it became obvious that he was – more out of surprise – resisting and that she wouldn't be able to pull him forward.

"You really took good care so that everybody knows, didn't you? Okay," the _Maru_'s captain hissed through her teeth, "you listen to me: I don't know what happened between the two of us, nor do I ever want to know, but whatever it was: since I don't remember, I'd very much appreciate it if you at least from now on kept it strictly between the two of us, especially since it certainly won't happen again. Do I make myself clear?"

Surprised, she saw Dylan's eyes blink in puzzlement.

"I… can't really say that you do..." he drawled, his gaze wandering past her and locking with Doyle's, who shrugged embarrassedly.

"Beka, I… I was just teasing…"

The pilot swirled around, straightening up and letting go of Dylan's shirt.

"What?" she growled, frowning at the slender android, who shrugged again, a lopsided, slightly apologetic smile on her face. "You... You mean, he didn't...? I mean... Dylan wasn't...? Oh..." Slowly, Beka looked over to the others present in the room, her eyes wandering from a Rhade unsuccessfully trying to hide his grin behind his hand to Rommie's furrowed, somewhat inquiringly elevated eyebrows and back to Dylan, who had meanwhile jumped up to his feet. The only one not smiling. Definitely **not **smiling.

Much like Beka had done before, he grabbed for her jacket's chest, unlike her although not seeming to experience any trouble at all to pull the startled woman towards him, before settling – no, slamming her down into the seat next to them. One hand on the table, the other one on the backside of the chair, he menacingly bent down to her so much that their noses were almost touching.

"Enough." His voice, fighting its way through his tightly clenched jaws, was barely above an almost strangled whisper. "I've had it, do you understand me? I've had it up to here," he then added more forcefully, his hand slicing across his throat. For a brief moment his furiously blazing eyes drilled into hers. Without avoiding his gaze, she moistened her lips.

"Dylan, I…"

"Shut up," he ordered curtly. "Shut the hell up or I swear, I won't be able to guarantee for anything anymore. Just what are you trying to do, Beka? Have you made a bet with someone to drive me crazy? In that case, you may cash in because I'm only this far" his thumb and index showed a barely noticeable space, "from losing my mind." He scrutinized her briefly, then pushed himself violently away from her, straightening up and turning away from them as well. "Shit!" he finally concluded loudly, running his fingers through his hair in an exasperated gesture and covering his mouth with his hand as if trying to hold back more angry words threatening to surface.

"You mean…"

He spun around, eyes still ablaze.

"I mean that ever since we ended up in this godforsaken system you seem to think that tormenting me is really the only thing able to make your day. I thought we talked it through, Beka; I thought we had reached an agreement, I thought…" He stopped, throwing his hands up in helpless gesture. "What have I done, Beka? More precisely, what have I ever done to **you** to have you constantly hunting me down and blaming me for every possible or impossible scenario that crosses your mind?" By now he was almost shouting, completely focused on his XO, oblivious to the others, who were observing the unfolding scene with a mixture of pretended nonchalance, amusement and a barely hidden interest.

Beka frowned, her eyes holding on to his, her chin defiantly up, the stiffness in her demeanor though clearly indicating that even if he could ignore the rest of the crew, she didn't.

"Dylan, ever since Prius…"

"Ever since Prius," he interrupted her harshly, "you've changed tactics. You are no longer aggressive, cold and silently reproachful; instead you've gotten back to being reckless, hot tempered and unpredictable. You throw yourself into affairs with people you don't know, you go against explicit orders, you ignore pleas, you put yourself in danger on a daily basis…" Dylan held on in his tirade, but before Beka could use the pause to throw a word in, he had dropped to his knees in front of her, reaching out for her hands and clasping them in an almost crushingly tight grip.

"Beka, flying so close to that sun trying to shut down Harper's tesseracting device, Peter, Harper's treasure hunt in the Vedran chambers, Marita, hanging around in that artificial sun to get us refueled instead of getting out as quickly as possible as you were ordered to do, and now even those stupid Nietzscheans…" he summed up in an intense tone, shaking his head. "I don't mean to sound ungrateful for everything you do, but Beka, there is a sun coming our way, Trance is… God knows what or who right now, a whole solar system is going to the dogs, we are in the middle of evacuating millions of people, this ship is still not doing what I'd like her to do, there is a universe we have to get back to and save from the Abyss and the Magog – and I spend my nights sleepless not because of it all, but because I can't stop thinking that only ten meters down the corridor you also lie awake, figuring out what crazy stunt to pull on me next. And now…" He looked into her eyes, clearly hoping for some understanding, but then he let go of her hands, jumping back to his feet and began to pace up and down in front of her.

"Now what? Is this really the best you have left? Don't tell me you've run out of mad ideas, Beka, and have now decided to recur to insults…"

"Dylan; I didn't mean to…"

He continued his tirade, disregarding her attempt to interrupt him:

"I must say, you're showing your usual excellency even in this field. Managing to pack two insults into one reproach…"

"Well, what was I to think?" Beka tried defending herself. "I was completely out of it when Doyle brought me back – and next thing I know I wake up in my bed, naked; I went to Command, found Doyle and when I asked her about what happened after she got me and the _Maru_, since I couldn't remember anything for the life of me, she grinned, saying something about how you've been 'most helpful', so I thought…" Her voice trailed off, losing itself under his accusing glare. For a second their eye contact broke, as he averted his gaze from her to throw Doyle a piercing look. The blonde android, who by now seemed to almost be enjoying herself, shrugged dismissively, but then looked as if she wanted to hide away from Dylan's murderous glance.

"I was joking…" she ventured. But the man was already no longer paying any attention to her.

"Oh, that's just perfect, Beka. You know what?" he yelled at her."Why not repeat it all again – and while you're at it, why not make it three insults?"

She frowned.

"Three?"

"I **don't** brag about my… conquests. **Nor **do I take advantage of drugged, helpless women," he spat into her face. "And lady, **if **I **had **– drugged, drunk, comatose or even in stasis: you **would** have remembered."

Silence fell. Beka and Dylan kept staring at each other, his face tensed and slightly distorted by his anger, hers meanwhile displaying a violent shade of red. The others were keeping in tune with the quiet. And then, while the silence seemed to expand more and more, a small, almost imperceptible twitch began to twist at one of Dylan's eyes, it's twin appearing just as discreetly on Beka's face, as well. It happened almost at the same time – and they both nearly noticed it first in the other, before it began to uncontrollably spread from their eyes all over their faces, reaching their lips and finally making them both burst out in laughter. Without really knowing how, they found themselves, joined by Rhade and even Rommie and Doyle, shaking with fits of laughter.

"I… I'm sorry… I…" Beka at long last managed to gasp.

"For… Forget about it… I…"

Wiping her eyes, Rebekkah Valentine stood up from the chair.

"No, really. I **am **sorry. And very, very grateful that you sent Doyle… I don't know…" She looked over at the Seefran blonde. "Doyle, thank you – and I'm sorry that I almost got you into trouble with Dylan. It's just that when you teased me, I could only see Rhade's and Harper's…" She stopped, then looked abut herself, anew a puzzled look in her eyes. "Wait a minute. Where's Harper?"

They all instantly turned serious, the lighter mood switching to an almost lugubrious one. Beka sighed.

"What?"

"Burma has him," Rommie informed her in a neutral voice.

Beka's eyes widened.

"How…?" she began, but then bit her lip, seeing Dylan's face tensing up again. He cleared his throat.

"It was…" Again he had to harrumph lightly. "It was my fault," he then pressed out. "I… I misjudged the situation; I needed Rommie here, to supervise the evacs and keep an eye on Trance, and so I thought – when Rhade and Harper ran into trouble – that I could handle it myself… I was too late for Harper…" His eyes guiltily shied away from hers. "I'm sorry," he concluded quietly.

Beka remained silent, but then nodded lightly.

"I see. You had to send Doyle to help me and…" She didn't finish the sentence, her eyes clouding with sadness. "I'm sorry, Dylan, I… It was my fault. I really am sorry."

"No…" he began protesting.

"Yes," she interrupted, insisting. "So," she then continued, focusing on Dylan "what's the plan?"

He shrugged looking at a loss.

"I… I'm not sure," he admitted tiredly. "I…" Again he hesitated, then sighed heavily. "We need to sort Trance out, we need to get Harper back, we need to get all those people to Seefra 1, we need to stop that sun, we need… I'm running out of rabbits to pull out of my hat. Hell, I seem to be even running out of hats," he confessed in a tired voice. "Anyway, at least there might be a solution for Harper: whatever Burma wants, in his sick mind it has something to do with revenge for all the technology we brought with the _Andromeda_ – and since I'm her captain I think he just might accept it if we propose to exchange me for Harper…"

Rhade, Rommie and Doyle all spoke at once:

"What?"

"Dylan!"

"But…"

"Do you have a better idea? I'm more likely than Harper to get myself out of whatever that lunatic has in store, and let's face it, people: with Trance on the loose and those masses of refugees to take care of as well as the need to get _Andromeda_ in tip-top shape and that system stopped from going to hell, Harper is much more vital for us here than I am…"

The logic was flawless. But then, into the silence, Beka shook her head.

"No," she said, determined. And then, even more forcefully: "No." Dylan let his eyes rest on her face for a moment.

"Beka…" he began.

"No. That's final, Dylan. If that's your plan, forget it, it's a lousy plan. Okay, people, different plan: I take the _Maru _and speed up the evac, Doyle goes to Seefra 1 to take care of the refugees, Rommie handles things up here and tries to sort Trance out – and you two boys get in touch with Burma and figure out a sensible way to get Harper back. And Dylan: no heroics, please. We've got our plate full as it is without having to rescue you, too. Okay?"

No-one objected.

"Okay," Beka then said in a determined tone. "I'll see you guys later. Doyle, you're with me," she finished and turned around, leaving the room in a hurry. The android followed.

"Are you going to go along with her?" Rhade's question sounded more like a growl. Dylan sighed.

"Rhade, if you have any objections why didn't you just say so? You have a better plan? 'Cos I haven't, you know." He waited an instant. "Well?"

"No…"

"Then what?"

"Nothing. Just… Just…" A quick glance at the Nietzschean confirmed Dylan's suspicion: Rhade was sulking. Again.

"Just what?"

"Just that we are in this mess because of her stupidity among other things and… I'm thinking **someone** maybe should have told her so…"

"Well, why didn't you do it?" Dylan asked, despite knowing all too well that in Rhade's book 'someone maybe having to tell Beka something' mostly translated 'Dylan'.

"She's my matriarch…" was the reluctant answer.

"Well, she's my XO…"

"Right, how could I forget **that**?"

"Can it, Rhade," the captain hissed, menacingly low.

"Yeah, sure, why not? I might just as well save my breath. It's not as if you would ever listen to reason..."

"Of which you are the voice, I presume?" the older man asked contemptuously.

"Of which I'm the voice," Rhade confirmed with force.

"Rhade, what do you want?" Dylan Hunt inquired in a tired tone.

"Gee, I don't know... **Captain**," the bully man stressed viciously. "Maybe I just wonder about how many times she puts us all in danger for some stupid scheme of hers and gets away with it, maybe I just wonder if we will have to add yet another name – and Harper's at that – to your 'people Beka screwed and whom I couldn't save'-list, that's getting rather longish as of late. And while you're at it, please don't forget to tell her, how it's all **not **her fault."

"I wish I knew, Rhade, what you've got against Beka."

"Nothing, just starting to think about how many times she put my ass in danger."

"Looks all right to me," Rommie remarked thoughtfully after weighing it carefully, a connoisseur-expression obvious on her face.

"Haven't counted," Dylan replied dryly. "But my guess would be probably half as many times as she so far saved it..."

"Oh yes, of course, forgive me!" Standing up from his stool, the Nietzschean bowed ironically. "How dare I voice my doubts about your precious, untouchable XO?" The Vedran laughed humorlessly.

"My precious XO! Rhade, don't tell me that all of this is about hierarchy..."

"Why not? As long as you keep telling me – and yourself – the same…"

"I wish I knew what you mean…"

"You do. We all do. _Everybody knows…_" the sturdy man replied stubbornly.

"Knows what, Rhade?"

"That this impressive 'to do'-list you mentioned earlier on… The universe we have to get back to, the battle we have to prepare for… Like in this old song from Earth Harper is so fond of: _Every__body knows that the war is over._ _Eve__rybody knows the good guys lost._ _Everybody knows the fight was fixed_..."

"Fixed? By whom?"

Instead of answering, Rhade merely confined himself to raising an ironic eyebrow. Dylan laughed incredulously.

"By Beka? You have got to be joking! Now THAT, Rhade, is certainly something everybody doesn't know!"

"_Everybody knows the boat is leaking. Everyb__ody knows the captain lied…_" the Nietzschean quoted further.

"Lied? About what?" By now, Dylan sounded downright furious. With a visible effort to restrain himself, he pleaded: "Rhade, I never lied about any of Beka's shortcomings. But that doesn't mean that I cannot excuse them, explain them… And it doesn't mean that I can use them to overlook the fact that, but for the time the Abyss had infected her, Beka has always been the most loyal, faithful one of my friends…"

"Oh yes, so very faithful..." Rhade inserted with sarcasm, "_give or take a night or two_, of course… _There were only so many people she just had to meet without her clothes…_" He laughed up. "Dylan, if that's what you want to tell yourself, so be it. But is this really what you think?"

"What I think, Rhade, is that this discussion has just hit rock bottom," the other man replied coldly. "I think it might be best to close it now. What do **you** think?"

The Nietzschean laughed again.

"I think that you might be just about right. As I am about the fact that sooner or later you will have to answer the question about why each time when Beka is at fault and you have to decide for or against her, you always choose in her favour."

And with that, Telemachus Rhade turned around and left the premise.

"He's wrong." Dylan Hunt's statement sounded unnaturally loud in the space left vacant by his Nietzschean officer.

"Yes, he is. About Beka," _Andromeda_'s avatar, who had observed the heated exchange in almost complete muteness, agreed. "But he's also right. About you," she stressed pensively."Eventually, Dylan, you really will have to answer this question. Not to Rhade, but to yourself."

"What makes you think I haven't answered it already?"

"You have?" Rommie sounded surprised.

He nodded.

"And?" she inquired further, curiosity written all over her face.

He shrugged:

"I always choose her because she always chooses me. And so far, she's been the only one to do this."

The dark-haired android looked puzzled.

"What do you mean? I always choose you…" she then said, sounding a bit offended. He shook his head, smiling a little saddened:

"Not quite. You choose your captain. The only times when you really were at liberty to choose, you chose Gabriel the first time; and you would have stayed with him, had he not betrayed you. I don't begrudge you that, but I am aware of it. The second time, on Arkology, you chose Harper. As does Doyle. And as ultimately also does Harper…"

"Dylan…"

"No, Rommie, I'm not complaining. I just note it, that's all. Rev chose his path. Gaharis chose the Nietzscheans. Sarah chose me, but then I chose for her and she… accepted my choice; and sometimes…" He hesitated, like someone stopping short of uttering a heresy, but then continued boldly: "… sometimes I ask myself: had Beka been in her place, would she have accepted that choice?"

"It… it would have killed her, had she not…"

"Yes, it would," Dylan answered in an almost serene tone, from which all doubt had disappeared. After a brief pause, he went on: "Tyr chose his dreams of grandeur. Telemachus is choosing 'the only kludge who defeated Nietzscheans'…"

"He didn't say 'kludge'…"

"No," Dylan agreed, smiling quietly, "he said 'man', but… he meant 'kludge'…"

"Trance chooses you," Rommie threw in, conceding the point.

"Yes, whenever there is a universe around to save, Trance chooses me. But you see, Beka does so even when there is nothing to save, not even a bug. Because ultimately Beka doesn't believe that I can save the universe. In fact, Beka KNOWS I can't, and yet in the end she chooses me… She just chose me over Harper, and I know exactly how much this must have cost her; she chose me over Jonah, she chose me over Tyr and Abel, she chose me over her hatred for Sid, obeying my orders. She chose me instead of Bobby and even of her brother. And at Arkology, despite of first running away, she finally chose me over herself. I never would have made it through the Route of Ages, had she not been there to shoot me a free path."

He lifted his eyes, looking directly at Rommie, and smiled seeming for the first time at peace.

"You ask why I choose her? I ask: how can I not? If not her, who else?"


End file.
